


tease

by pensee



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A/B/O, Abigail is recovering and independent AF, BRIEF mention of EXTREME pissplay/watersports, Basically a lot of steamy honeymoon married couple sex, Complete crack, Confident Will, Hannigram are terrible parents, Lingerie, M/M, Mpreg, Not carried out in practice, Peeping Tom Hannibal, They're either fucking or thinking about fucking while she's up to God knows what, Trying to keep his head above water Hannibal, Will in lingerie, intersex omega
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 14:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20744051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/pseuds/pensee
Summary: Despite everything he has learned about Will Graham being very much the nontraditional omega, Hannibal is all but flabbergasted when he realizes that Will has found a very traditionally effective way to both torture him and challenge their professional relationship to its farthest limits.Or: Will Graham acts completely oblivious whilst parading around Doctor Lecter’s Baltimore home in nothing save panties, bustier, and pilfered dress shirts during a few experimental “overnight therapy sessions”, at which they are supposed to be discussing their new surrogate daughter’s well-being and during which they end up discussing many different things instead.





	tease

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in a mid-S1 universe where Will doesn't have encephalitis.
> 
> NOTE ON INTERSEX GENITALIA: There will be no “p” or “c” words used here. Genitalia is referred to as “cock” (or similar), “hole”/ “labia”, and “asshole.” Will has a mostly-flat chest, but they are referred to as both breasts and tits.

Will Graham is not what Hannibal would call a “traditionalist.”

Despite growing up in the American South, where some of the strictest definitions of Alpha/omega sex roles had both endured and thrived, Will had done—within his first five minutes of them meeting—at least four dozen things in Hannibal’s presence that would have likely forced another Alpha into madness born from irritation at their potential omega’s lack of subservience.

For once, Hannibal had been the one to be surprised; instead of making plans for creating a dinner out of his exceptionally rude new co-worker, his first thought was of making plans for dinner _with _Will. Something they would both enjoy, to appeal to the omega’s bristling, contrary nature, although Hannibal knew he would be entertained with seeing the omega flinch at the expectations associated with a formal dining setting in one of Baltimore’s more expensive restaurants.

He wouldn’t have been able to say whether it was the omega’s extraordinarily pretty face, enticing scent, or strange, fathomless mind which had convinced him to bite his tongue and calmly defer—_defer_!—to the omega over the matter of demanding guardianship over Abigail Hobbs, despite how poorly the situation could go if she found offense at her father’s murderer trying to ingratiate himself into her life.

But he could not deny how the thought pulled at him, watching Will tentatively reach out to Abigail and be cautiously met in turn, the sight of the two omegas’ pale hands clinging together in the garden at the Port Haven Psychiatric Facility. Perhaps in another life, Will would have been the one to carry her, to protect her from the horrors, or at least teach her how to better cope with them. Now that the source of Abigail’s misery had been killed, it seemed fate had given them both a second chance to negotiate the terms of their own happiness.

Though Will claimed to have found the family he needed in his seven strays, Hannibal sensed, from one lonely thing to another, that he craved human contact most of all.

“I want her out of here as fast as humanly possible,” Will had told him in the garden, after Abigail had wandered back into the cafeteria for lunch, as if he was the Alpha in the equation and had a right to speak to Hannibal that way.

Curious at Will’s train of thought, he had merely pointed out, “She is receiving some of the best care in the state. All on the government’s dime.”

Lip curling, Will had scoffed, “She’s pretending not to be, but I know a delicate flower when I see one, pardon the disgusting analogy. She’s wilting in here, and we can’t do anything to stop her from climbing the walls, except to take them away.”

“You’re suggesting she leave the facility before her treatment has finished,” Hannibal had said evenly, raising an eyebrow when Will glared and refused to look away until Hannibal bared the tip of a canine and Will snorted, averting his eyes.

The question: _Leave, and go where_? had hung heavier than lead in the air between them.

“I’m _suggesting_ we get her into a stable home,” Will had countered, knowing how much it sounded the familiar, exhausted social worker’s refrain.

“You already have seven…children…to care for on a daily basis.”

Will had smiled at him, then, and it was cuttingly mocking, and one of the truest smiles Hannibal had ever seen from him.

“I didn’t mean _my _home, Doctor Lecter,” he’d said, and just like that, Hannibal’s fate had been sealed.

“I really don’t want to be a burden,” Abigail insists, very focused on messily braiding her hair so that she will not have to look either one of them in the eye.

Ever the practical child, she did not want to merely come out and say what she desired, her senses wary of being too blunt around the sheep-like others that she encountered her whole life. But the one wolf who had controlled her was dead, and the two that cared for her now would rather she speak plainly.

“It wouldn’t be a burden to spend time with you, Abigail,” Will says, swallowing audibly. “It’s your first day out; we should do something special.”

Hannibal clears his throat and tries not to smirk as Will attempts to step in front of him to physically move Abigail so that she will feel obligated to take his side over Hannibal’s. Abigail trips a bit over her own feet, not expecting the sudden rearrangement, but she doesn’t yelp or grumble at the other omega’s hands on her, and Hannibal could nearly weep at the progress they’ve made in such a short amount of time, Abigail having gone from skittish and sarcastically biting to being acclimated to both their presence and scent.

Though it would do no good to suffocate her, not when the memory of the family she had recently lost hovered over them like a slowly dissipating shroud. Hannibal, unlike the man whom he planned through this process would eventually become his omega, believed he had the patience to see the long game through.

“What would you like to do, Abigail?” Hannibal asks, because he already knows the answer she will provide, and is looking forward to the opportunities this will give him to spend more time alone with Will.

“Okay, I know what the facility said—Well, Jesus Christ, how is this my life—What Agent Crawford said, about ‘keeping an eye on me’, at least until I’m stable, whatever that means. But I don’t—Look, it was really nice of Doctor Bloom to go out and get those clothes and gift cards for me, but some of that stuff isn’t exactly my style. And I haven’t seen fresh air for months, not really, and it would be really great if I could go see a movie, or—.”

Will looks flabbergasted. As if his vision of a perfect family Friday together has been shattered by a careless child’s hand.

Abigail was young, but careless she was not, and Hannibal wondered, for a moment, if she was getting a sick sort of glee out of wearing a completely innocent face whilst disrupting all of her new father’s plans.

“A-are you asking for a day alone?” he says, very quiet, voice cracking on the last word, and Abigail’s face softens for a moment before she sighs, “Well, yeah. I mean, I’m holed up in a group home for psychos, listening to people cry themselves to sleep every night, or the nurses always chattering about other patients behind their backs. I’d like to go out for a little and not have to worry about being held accountable for anything. Just listen to normal background noise for one afternoon.

“I’ll be back before dinner,” she adds quickly, though Hannibal is already reaching for his wallet.

Extracting one of his backup credit cards from its respective pocket, he reaches for her wrist and turns her palm upward, placing the card and five hundred dollars cash into her outstretched hand.

“Um,” she says, unsure of how to respond.

“There is a four-thousand-dollar limit on the card. Try not to watch too many movies,” he instructs, and Abigail gives a short, slightly disbelieving laugh and leans up on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek.

“Thanks, Hannibal,” she says happily, and gives Will a squeeze on the arm, accepting Will’s tight smile in turn as she grins at both of them and disappears into the hallway, Hannibal hearing her snatch the Jaguar’s keys from their hook in the foyer. He is glad, for an irrational moment—as if he had not just practically given a child with no impulse control control over his bank account—that the Bentley’s keys are still in his pocket.

“If she totals that car, it’ll serve you right,” Will snorts, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. “Come on, Hannibal, that was a dick move.”

“I merely gave her what she wanted. It’s not as if she’s become used to the concept, after everything that’s happened to her.”

“No, that’s not what you did. You wanted to get me alone, so you shooed her away the easiest way you know how.”

Hannibal is continually shocked by the depth of Will’s insight, but they have never dared speak the words aloud.

_I desire to court you_.

The phrase is traditional and far less romantic than pragmatic in origin, but it had saved their ancestors a lot of time and emotional suffering. Clear and concise, it made the Alpha’s intentions towards their potential omegas clear, but the waters between them had been muddied since they met.

Would it be more amusing to own up to the words now, or later?

“Why would I want to get you alone,” he finds himself saying, and Will’s disappointed frown prompts the beginnings of an alarming tightness in his throat.

“I don’t know, Hannibal. You tell me,” Will drawls, brushing past him towards the doorway. Inhaling the familiar scent of pet dander and cheap cologne, Hannibal also smells a long day—potentially _days_—of travel on the omega, and feels a tad humbled by the realization that Will had likely had quite a trying week behind him and made an effort to look presentable and unfazed when they both met Abigail at the hospital to bring her home.

“Look, the consultation I canceled our last session for ran a little bit over. I didn’t want to make a big deal about it because she’d probably feel bad if she pulled me away from a case, but I wasn’t gonna leave her in there for any longer than need be. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna make myself something to eat and take a shower and then collapse for about twenty hours, okay?”

While Hannibal experienced an almost uncomfortable surge of both arousal and contentment at the mental image of Will puttering around in the kitchen, the reality of a guest both unfamiliar with and uncaring of his organizational system put him on edge. It would save time and frustration for both of them if he was the one to prepare a meal for the omega.

“I will make something while you shower,” Hannibal says, and Will exhales through his nose, unwilling to carry their argument any further.

“Thank you,” he says. “But first, come with me. I need to talk to you about having some manners first, hun.”

Hannibal’s eye twitches. Sometimes, those little endearments that really meant nothing at all tended to slip out of Will’s mouth when he was tired or especially relaxed from a glass or two of wine, and Hannibal had yet to decide if he liked (or adored) them or not.

Attempting to not watch the unintended sway of Will’s hips as he takes the stairs at a leisurely pace, Hannibal swallows a growl and lets his gaze wander to a small painting of his mother that he has hanging on the wall opposite the bannister.

Abigail had promptly announced upon her arrival that she would take the biggest guest room, which happened to be upstairs in the corner opposite the master, and Will had quietly decided to take the bedroom between Hannibal’s and Abigail’s chosen space, whether to be closer to Abigail or to taunt Hannibal, he had also yet to decide.

_There are not usually this many stairs_, Hannibal thinks to himself nonsensically, oddly ill-at-ease without a chaperone to accompany them, especially in an inarguably intimate situation like theirs was, a ready-made family in its earliest hours of being. The Count had taught him that a proper gentleman always visited an omega, particularly an omega who was of marriageable age and status, with the company and supervision of a (preferably elder) third party.

Hannibal often picked and chose which parts of custom he deigned to follow, though not even the presence of a chaperone would be able to prevent the tightness in his trousers, he thought with some dismay, Will glancing over his shoulder at him with a knowing smirk on his pink, pink mouth.

“Havin’ trouble there?”

“No. Get into the shower, Will. You can say your piece through the door.”

The words come out as half an order, low and guttural as a snarl. This seems to momentarily shock Will, whose smirk vanishes, throat working before he turns his head forward again so all that Hannibal can see is his charming tangle of curls.

“Alright, Doctor Lecter,” he says, faltering, then, regaining his composure in the split second it takes to let Hannibal think he’s won. “You promise you won’t crack open the door and peek?”

Mouth nearly flooding with saliva at the mental image of himself spying on this awful, naughty tease of an omega through an open door to the bath like some incurably odious peeping Tom, Hannibal checks himself before he can admit that there is a small bead of what he would have to call drool gathering at the corner of his mouth.

“Get into the shower, Will. The sooner you bathe, the sooner you eat.”

“And the sooner I get to test those awful soft-lookin’ pillows. God, why does everything have to be so luxurious? You’re ridiculous,” he says, Hannibal awkwardly leaning on the bathroom doorframe before deciding to turn to face his back to the room.

“You said we’d talk through the door,” Will points out, voice close to his ear as he leans up towards the Alpha, and Hannibal tries to regain his balance by clarifying, “I meant the shower door.”

They both look at said door, which is nothing more than a panel of clear glass, and Will gives a surprisingly flirtatious shrug.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “But keep those eyes on the hallway.”

Hannibal crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe accordingly, but what Will does not necessarily know is that there is a gilded mirror in the corridor which reflects enough into the room that Hannibal can see most of the counter, the shower stall, and the closet where the spare towels and other bath supplies are stored.

Will tosses his jacket to the floor with a mindless lack of attention that Hannibal finds adorable, but his laughter sticks in his throat when he gets the first peek at the tendons of Will’s smooth, bared neck and flawless collarbones in the brief seconds before he pulls his flannel shirt over his head.

“I know you’ve got a…strong personality. I’m fine with that. But when it comes to Abigail, we need to communicate. If she sees us undermining each other like you just did to me downstairs, she’ll try to run circles around us before you can say ‘shouldn’t have given her an inch.’ She’s not stupid, Hannibal, and you’d be stupid to treat her like she is.”

Will might not have known of the full extent of Abigail’s murderous past, but he knew that she had the ingenuity to seek him out when she had gutted Nicholas Boyle, and it seemed to Hannibal that he was not taking any chances he would be kept out of the loop in the future.

_What a clever little omega you’ve chosen_, his hindbrain purrs, and Hannibal growls at it to shut up.

“Are you trying to protect her from me? Or myself from her, by reminding me of that fact?”

Will’s plain white undershirt comes off next, and Hannibal’s teeth begin to ache, eyes widening a minute amount at the unexpected treasure he sees in the mirror, hidden beneath every concealing layer of Will’s usual outfits.

A pale, flesh-colored bustier is cinched about Will’s torso, its tiny, lace-embroidered cups obviously intended for male omegas with barely a handful rather than females in need of true support. The entire piece is much more supple than a corset, clinging to every subtle ridge of Will’s ribs as he shifts to discard his undershirt entirely, bending at the hips to squirm out of his corduroys. Although the lace of the body, interspersed by what appears to be some sort of polyester mesh, does not look cheap, it has also been worn and washed improperly many times over, and the half-erection Hannibal had been sporting on the stairs makes itself known again in earnest as he lets out a displeased rumble at the fat drop of pre-come he can feel gathering at the tip of his cock.

“I’m trying to protect both of you, and if you’ll just let me drive the car once in a while, you can finally get it out of your head that it’s up to you to fix everything about this situation. There are a thousand moving parts, and there’s Jack breathing down her neck, and I just—I want us to make this work, together.”

_How things have changed_, Hannibal wants to muse. _Two months ago, you couldn’t stand to look me in the eye. Now, you want to “make this work”_; “this”, of course, being the closest thing to a family either of them was ever going to get.

The sentiment of it all both competes with and compliments his arousal, though the latter wins out in the next moments, Will’s butt jiggling as he triumphantly pulls himself free of his socks and pants, shoes already semi-neatly shoved into a corner by the supply cabinet.

Hannibal chokes on his own saliva when he realizes that there is also a tiny triangle of lace held tightly to Will’s lower back by a dainty lace waistband, the whole of it connected to an insultingly thin string (if that floss was wide enough to be called a string) that disappeared between the impossibly perfect swell of the omega’s round cheeks.

A thong. Will Graham apparently wore thongs.

_And that’s why you were never able to tell what sort of undergarments he was wearing beneath those terribly wrinkled trousers_, Hannibal thinks to himself, pressing his hand insistently to his cock, willing his arousal away without much success.

_He is practically your patient. He enjoys aggravating you. He is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, omegan lingerie or no_.

The last point is the only one that his ridiculous Alphan hindbrain can concentrate on, so of course, this is the moment that Will looks up, hands on the waistband of his skimpy panties, and catches Hannibal’s eye through the mirror.

Instead of looking abashed or embarrassed, he looks…Well, _pleased_ is not the right word for it, but it is certainly along those lines.

“Were you even listening to me this entire time? Or were you just staring at my ass?”

Bare feet barely making a sound against the cold bathroom tile, Will walks back over to him, and Hannibal tries to keep his eyes up, but as the old adage goes, he can’t help his gaze from straying down, to where Will’s pretty nipples are just visible through the bustier cups (was he aroused at this, as well? Was there a hint of slick in the air?), then to the bulge beneath the nude-colored fabric that cupped Will’s small omegan cock.

He sees, with the startled certainty of one about to witness a tragedy, that there is a tiny wet spot on the front of Will’s thong, and tries not to let out a groan at the sight.

The look on Will’s face is unreadable; if not for his gleaming eyes, Hannibal would think him completely content with standing here, exactly in this spot, at this moment, forever.

Hannibal wonders if Will is about to kiss him or do _something_, anything further, but the omega simply puts a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and turns him back around.

“Bye,” he says instead, shoving Hannibal out into the hall and shutting the door in the space Hannibal had been occupying moments before. “You already know what I like to eat, so get creative!” he calls through the door, and Hannibal feels a muscle in his cheek twitch.

_I know what _I’d_ like to eat_, Hannibal thinks, but refrains from shouting back. He had, after all, promised Will some sustenance.

It was an Alphan instinct to want to mark his territory and re-establish his dominance after an omega got unruly, but it would also completely destroy the impression he’d built of being a “well-mannered” man, as Will had called him earlier, to do something incredibly primeval like piss in Will’s drink and make him down the whole thing as an acknowledgment of his deferral to his Alpha.

Although, as Will had accused, perhaps them being together was making him lose his manners after all, to even think of doing something so base to poor, unknowing Will Graham.

_Another time_, he tells himself, _when Will is fully aware of the consequences of his actions, and decides to challenge me anyway. _

Such a time may never exist—he would not ask Will to debase himself in the traditional ways unless Will chose such a thing for himself—but still, Will’s eyes watering at the taste of piss as he attempts to maintain that proud smirk, unconquered in the face of Hannibal’s ire?

Hannibal chuckles to himself at the imagined debauchery, unable to resist a smile at the thought.

**Author's Note:**

> <strike>Would anybody like to see Will drinking piss? Y/N?</strike>


End file.
